Yore Chronicles
by gotlatiosnlatias
Summary: The year's 663 in the pokemon universe. The world is starting to go a little bit mad, though the news of the massive destruction and disrest on the mainland has yet to reach the majority of the island of Sootopolis. Someone has to save it, can they?


A warm breeze stirred the humid, tropical air that loomed over the vast, volcanic island of Sootopolis. It carried the salty scent of the surrounding ocean through the dense foliage and palm trees and throughout the scarce villages carved into said thickets. On the same wind, the distant shrill, drawn out, singular high pitch note of an agonized scream could be heard pushing through the heavy air and rising up into the clear, starry night. The source could be found inside a rickety structure of one of the barely populated villages located, like most on the island, directly near the beach. It was the dead of July in the year 639 and, though no one knew it, something extraordinary was about to happen.

"Push, woman, push—"

"AaaaAAAGH—"

In all her nineteen years, Demelza could not remember wanting anyone's advice or sympathy less than she did now. She was in the most humiliating position possible, squatting between two women and clutching their arms with her slick palms, her damp nightgown hiked up to her bellybutton, and another woman's arms stuck beneath her as if waiting to catch a ripe coconut about to fall from a tree. There was a high fire burning in the center of the one room hut and Demelza was half delirious with heat and pain. Beads of sweat trickled from her forehead and stung her already smarting eyes. As she was racked with the excruciating sensation of contractions, she let loose a shriek to drown out the instructions to push. Her head was swimming and after hours in the same position, her knees had locked up and her legs felt like pudding. There was no other goal but to end this pain, she could no longer even remember the source or point of it all.

"Praise Arceus, there is a head! Push Demelza, you're almost free of it!" the midwife shrieked to the laboring woman above her. Finally, Demelza thought, some motivational talk that would actually drive her to do as told. With an animalistic cry, she gritted her teeth together fiercely and concentrated every fiber of her being into the task given her – to deliver this baby. Her efforts were quickly met with success, as in moments, an infantile wail was mingled with her own groaning and puffing. The new-made mother collapsed back onto the pallet made behind her as she was finally released by the pair that had been holding her aloft for the past few hours. Demelza felt no concern for anyone but herself in those moments, haunted as she was by horror stories of other, more delicate, women that had passed into a dreadful fever after childbirth before departing this world and their baby, forever. She left the cooing and baby coddling to the midwife and her two female neighbors while she chattered her teeth and shifted to pull her skirts down, eager to regain some dignity. All too soon, however, she found her arms being demanded use of. This quick handing over of the infant could only mean one thing.

During the nine months prior to the birth, Demelza had trained herself to feel largely indifferent to the product that came from her recent marriage. Children often die, be it minutes or months, after being delivered. The sex of the baby was also a great source of angst for most couples, so she decided to be apathetic on the matter. Her preparation for motherhood and the arrival of their first child had, therefore, been quite tame. But all of that melted away when the wrinkled, still bloodied infant was handed to her – a discarded, very much unwanted and unapproved of girl.

A fierce loyalty to this new creature flared up in Demelza's chest as the midwives tittered over what a shame it was that it had turned out to be a girl and perhaps they would have better luck next time. "Impossible," she murmured, gazing with wonder down at the bawling child that was defiantly waving her fists against her motherly comfort. The trio of women looked down at her with mingled shock and amusement. It was clearly the fever that was talking because everyone knew a women's worth was measured by her husband and the number of sons he got off of her. "Ailith," Demelza continued, speaking directly to the baby in her arms. "Fierce battle… that's what we'll call you… You'll have to fight for everything in this life."

And Demelza Lovell was right. Even as Ailith was cleaned and swaddled, she had begun the battle for her father's approval. She had made the horrible mistake of being born the first child at a girl; science blamed it on her mother, everyone else seemed to blame it on her. It was the war from which all other battles stemmed from her, and she was determined to win it. Almost twenty four years later, she would finally get her chance to do so.

The atmosphere was much the same that July day, two and a half decades later. Humidity clogged the air and tension hung heavy around the same rickety shack. Ailith Lovell crouched beside a fire in the center of the hut like structure and moodily added twigs to the flames. Her mother, aged and stooped, worked in the corner mending shirts. Occasionally she would shoot her daughter furtive looks, as if imploring her to do something, but never vocalized her desires. "Is dinner on yet?" grunted a gruff voice. The dark haired young woman did not need to turn to know that her stocky father had just entered through the flap of cloth serving as the front door, bringing with him a breath of fresh air and a stifling, oppressing masculinity. "No, I only just started the fire," she said, half truthfully. She hated making dinner. "Can't even fix a meal good and proper… What the blazes have you spent the last twenty four years teaching the wretch, Demelza?"

Ailith ground her teeth together and glared into the flames. She was often goaded thus by her father. Over years of incessant arguing he had refined his technique. Direct insults were easily ignored by her, so he instead hurled abuse, both verbal and physical, to one much less inclined to contest the treatment – his wife and her mother. Ailith could not stand it. Demelza looked up from her mending with wide eyes, stammering, "She is a quick study and hand, husband. I believe she merely gets somewhat bored by her lack of tasks."

"Aye! Then maybe she should get married and have some sons to keep her busy!" roared Tatum, his sunburnt skin beginning to splotch a purple color with his mounting rage. The arguments always revolved around this one point – Ailith was twenty four and she was yet unmarried. In fact, she had not a single suitor and, worst of all, she did not care in the least. She raised her green eyes to take in the stocky form of her father, a man she had never been close to. Nothing would please her more than to leave this household, but she didn't want marriage as her escape route. Rising, she brushed the dirt from her traditional wrap skirt of turquoise hanging low on her hips. "Where are you going?" her father demanded to know as she strode for the exit, picking up a wooden pail as she did. Ailith pressed her lips together stonily and whipped around only when he caught her wrist. "Where are you going you insolent brat?! I wasn't done talking to you!" Her mother stood anxiously, concerned but unable to intervene. The young woman merely glared at Tatum, temper rising.

"Well I'm done." The sharpness in her retort, and the mere fact she responded at all, was insubordination to the extreme. Ailith knew of his plans to strike her before he lifted his arm and retaliated prior to his blow landing. With an infuriated snarl, enraged by this constant abuse she had to endure from her bitter father, she swung the bucket up to collide with Tatum's jaw. He stumbled backward, clearly shocked that even she would have the audacity to make such a move. Even Ailith seem surprised in the immediate wake of her attack, but simultaneously proud. Her mother's stunned sputtering from the stool in the corner was lost on her as she spun around once more and sprinted from the rickety hut. Tatum's screams of outrage followed her out; "UNGRATEFUL BITCH! DARE SHOW YOUR FACE AGAIN AND I SHALL RUIN IT BEYOND RECOGNITION—"

The rest of his threats were drowned out by distance and the sound of the ocean crashing onto the shore, along with her own breathing. She dropped the weapon she had accosted her own father with and replaced it with a hand carved bow and a set of arrows just outside their measly home. Returning to the hut that night, and perhaps even the next, would be unwise unless she wanted to see Tatum's threats come to fruition. Therefore she ventured toward the dark, thick forest.

Thoughts of danger were held at bay. Still full of anger at her father's unfair treatment of her and brimming with pride at her response, she crashed barefoot through the unbroken, tropical foliage. Ailith had grown up on Sootopolis as quite a free spirit despite the constraints society and her family tried to place on her. She was somewhat familiar with the vast forest that surrounded the giant volcano that rose up in the middle of their large island, and her feet had become calloused and unfeeling after many unprotected wanderings such as this. The Lovell's shack had been set up close to the shore, like most families', and located near a freshwater stream that trickled down from upstream. Ailith followed this creek relentlessly, storming angrily through the brush and sparing few glimpses to her surroundings or the bestial cries coming from the dense forest as she plunged further into its depths. Not too far ahead, she was certain, was a cave from which the stream originated and she had used it in the past for shelter, during particularly bad weather when on a water fetching mission. Once she reached there, she would be fine.

Ailith's legs suddenly locked up and her form went rigid. Blinking repeatedly, she strained her eyes against the darkness. A menacingly large and unidentifiable silhouette had just zipped across her projected path at an alarming speed, vanishing into the barely moonlit brush with an eerie cry and much snapping of branches and vegetation. She raised her bow and drew back an arrow, heartbeat beginning to pound a tattoo in her ears. The array of pokemon that wandered these woods was not fully known to Ailith and, though it had never seemed such a problem before, she now found it quite worrisome. Nothing that she recalled seemed to match the size and speed of the creature that had briefly shown itself. What in Arceus's name was lurking in these trees?

And then, without warning, there was a hot breath on her neck. Ailith let out a terrified gasp and spun herself around to point her arrow at the mystery creature, finding herself staring into large amber eyes of something she had never seen the likes of before. It bore the nearest resemblance to a bird with a long neck attached to a very round, short body. With feathers of red and white, it appeared somewhat luminescent in the patch of moonlight peeking through the trees above. It's arms were short and its wings standing erect at a forty five degree angle on its back. Wide eyed, Ailith took in the appearance of this creature, gaze eventually meeting its, rather surprised to find it… smiling. The young woman inhaled sharply, lowering her bow as she took a step backward. When the giant bird, at least seven feet long, zoomed forward to continue to keep pressing it's face in almost direct contact with hers, Ailith didn't know whether to be amused or frightened. Was this a display of friendliness or some bizarre hunting method?

After almost three full minutes of standing perfectly still and holding what seemed to be a staring contest with this strange bird, Ailith finally relaxed her posture somewhat. It didn't seem to be a malicious creature and surely if it had planned on making her a late night dinner, it would have done so by now. The large amber eyes were so inviting, and the glassy down covering it tantalizing, and the patterned triangle on its face was all too endearing. It was cute, determined Ailith, and not dangerous… presently. "Hello," she finally said, earning a pleased head tilt from the pokemon.

*Hello.*

The young woman was rooted to the spot at the chipper voice that had just responded to her greeting… in her head. It wasn't the telepathy in general that surprised her, for she had that supernatural ability herself. Ailith, like some in the pokemon world of 663, was what they called a pure-blood psychic. Legend had it that pokemon and humans had once been able to morph from one form to the other and thus be able to communicate easily. As greed, pride, and general evil had begun to contaminate the world and the heart's of its population, however, pokemon and humans had lost these abilities and been stuck in one form or another. Psychics were the humans with residual powers and abilities that testify to this ancient connection between people, pokemon, and nature, as were morphs. It was a widely accepted belief, though in recent years some had begun to contest it, even the shocking idea of capturing and domesticating pokemon for humans' own gain and profit. It was a notorious notion in a time where pokemon were still revered and treated largely as equals. There was talk that back on the mainland that group's were rising up… abusing the creatures and using them for evil purposes… Finding a pokemon like this that could communicate back, however, was rare. Ailith had never heard of it occurring on this island and little news from the mainland reached them.

"You can talk," she sputtered, quite flabbergasted, overwhelmed with the import of this realization. The bird gave a coo that she supposed was its version of a laugh. Once again, it put its face directly in her own and fixed her with its wide eyed stare, invading her personal space a bit more than she would have cared for.

*Friends,* insisted the bird telepathically. Ailith's lips twitched back in a bewildered smile. Friends? It wanted to be ifriends/i. She could not recall a time a human had intimated such a desire, much less a pokemon… and certainly not immediately upon meeting her. There was something of a connection, an inexplicable draw toward this creature, and she felt herself smiling as she reached out a hand to stroke its long neck. Nonetheless, Ailith was reluctant to give herself over so easily to a creature she knew virtually nothing about. However, there was someone who might know something about it…

Within minutes, she was crashing through the brush and thrusting her arms forward to shove low tree branches out of her way. The mysterious bird hovered behind her and Ailith had the distinct impression she was moving significantly slower than it was truly capable of going. The pair of them burst through the edge of the forest and onto the sandy coast. As she streaked down the beach toward a hut much like the one her family inhabited, though it look substantially more put together, she felt exhilaration like she had never known. Long gone was the fight with her father and, while she ran alongside the strange bird with her dark hair streaming out behind her, she felt a wild sense of freedom she had never known before.

"Forbes! FORBES!"

The rickety door of the homey look shack burst open, revealing a young woman clad in the same traditional garb as Ailith though it was covered by a garment resembling an apron. In one hand she held a wooden bowl and a rag, while the other flew up to tidy her whispy hair. "Ailith! Ailith, what are you shrieking about?!" she demanded, obviously frazzled, giving the girl a disconcerted once over before noticing the bizarre creature lurking behind her. "Oh my—what in heaven's name—Forbes! Forbes, get out here!"

Ailith gave a nod of thanks to the woman, named Jane, who was actually several years younger than herself. Jane was often a featured example in her father's long list of reasons why Ailith should be married by now. Jane's husband, Forbes Sanders, was someone Ailith had been familiar with since childhood. Jane had come from the opposite side of the island, which might as well have been the other side of the earth. They were, nonetheless, friendly and Ailith had occasionally resorted to hiding out at their home when enduring a particularly rebellious and independent stage.

Forbes appeared in the doorway alongside his wife, the firelight from within illuminating the pair of them. His complexion was swarthy from the sun and his hands calloused from his job as a fisherman, a career path typical of most males on the island. Always one for convention, he was hastily tugging his shirt down, clearly having only just pulled it on at the announcement there was a female on the scene that was not related to him in some fashion. The only thing about him that defied tradition was his hair, black and hanging down almost to his shoulders, though it was swept back into a loose ponytail tonight. His wide brown eyes took in Ailith briefly, before also snatching to the large bird, mouth dropping open in shock.

"Blimey, Ailith! That's a bloody Latias!"


End file.
